


sic itur ad astra

by wordstruck



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Starchild and Moonwalker AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 05:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10735257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/wordstruck
Summary: He snatches a burst of comet fire, recklessly, and tucks it behind Yuri’s ear.It burns and burns all night, lighting up Yuri’s face almost as much as the starchild’s smile. It burns, like Otabek’s fingers and his heart.Or, an AU where Otabek is a moonwalker, and Yuri is a starchild who falls onto his home.





	sic itur ad astra

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this [amazing piece of art](https://twitter.com/chantedeer/status/853236141016793088) by @/chantedeer on Twitter, and her idea of Otabek living on the moon and collecting starlight, but not being able to take too much or his heart might give out, unless he gives the starlight to someone he loves.
> 
> Beta'd by the sweetest @astruous! 
> 
> Feel free to hit me up on my Twitter [@okw_tr](https://twitter.com/okw_tr) and tumblr at [plstskys](https://plstskys.tumblr.com)!!

* * *

 

It is moonrise.

Otabek rouses from his sleep and stretches, pale skin and sinew. His movements are stiff and laborious, and his body feels rigid. It is cold; it is always cold. His footsteps echo in the small cavern as he makes his way outside, where the starlight greets him. He reaches out, winding the last few threads of sunshine through his fingers. They glow rose and gold against his skin.

Carefully, carefully, Otabek presses his hands to his chest, and feels the sunshine warm him. The gentle heat spreads through him, and slowly, he softens. He shrugs his shoulders, wiggles his toes.

Around him, the stars twinkle.

Otabek goes about his daily chores. He checks for fallen asteroids, then clears the area around his cavern of moondust and bits of meteor. Every once in a while he will call over some starshine with his fingers, and press it to his chest.

He savors the warmth, the way it eases his body. He is careful never to take too much, else he might burn. Always, it is just enough for him to move easier, see brighter. Always, just enough.

He checks the craters in case something has fallen in. Then Otabek goes back to his cavern, feels the tightness return to his body. He is cold, but he will fall asleep soon.

The sun rises. Otabek sleeps.

 

It is moonrise, but not just.

Otabek peers outside his cavern, looking in awe at the star shower that flashes across the sky in yellow and blue and white. He stays indoors tonight; the chores will have to go undone. The starlight flickers through the mouth of the cavern and Otabek watches it paint the walls with color. Even in this shelter, he feels warm.

He wonders what it feels like to be a star, always burning with heat. He would like to thank them for being kind enough to share their light.

 

Otabek wakes the next night in a haze, languid and soothed. The star shower had left him just warm enough in his slumber that he need not catch the last of the sunshine. He takes his time with his chores instead, even peers over a ridge to watch the Earth. He checks the craters in case something has fallen in.

Something has.

It is vivid and warm, and breathing.

Otabek inhales sharply as he looks at the starchild who sits there, small and lost. It has not seen him yet, though it is looking around and hugging itself tightly. In the dark of the crater it glows, faintly.

He thinks of the star shower last night, and of this starchild losing its way and falling here.

“Hello,” he calls, and the starchild looks at him. It curls into itself a little more.

“Are you all right?” Otabek asks. The starchild does not answer.

There is a moment of hesitation, then Otabek slowly makes his way down to the starchild, who watches him with wide eyes. _It is scared,_ Otabek thinks. He understands.

“What is your name?” he asks softly. He is near enough now to see gold, starspun hair and a young face. The boy’s eyes are an astonishing green, which Otabek has only seen glimpses of on Earth. He looks at Otabek, wary and frightened. There are scratches and bruises on his body from his fall.

They look at each other. Otabek is patient, quiet; he does not press. The starchild shivers in the cold. With careful motions, Otabek spins down some starshine. He offers it up.

Uncertainty flashes over the starchild’s features, before slender hands reach out tentatively. When he is close enough, the starshine flits over to him, curling through his fingers and up his arms. His glow becomes a little brighter.

When the last traces of light and warmth have left Otabek’s fingers, the starchild peeks up at him.

“Yuri,” he whispers.

 

The starchild, Yuri, is too young and fragile to be left alone. Otabek brings him back to his cavern, giving him more starshine along the way. It brings a flush to Yuri’s cheeks, makes him look less drained. It makes Otabek a little less worried.

“Where am I?” Yuri asks, glancing around him.

“A moon,” Otabek answers. He winds a thread of starshine around Yuri’s wrist, watches it disperse into sparks that dance up and down the starchild’s skin.

“Who are you?” Yuri looks at the sparks on his arm, then at the moonwalker.

“Otabek,” he answers easily, stepping back.

There is a tiny crease in Yuri’s brow. “What are you?”

“I am a moonwalker,” he answers. Yuri tips his head to the side, perplexed.

“Are there more of you?”

“Yes.” Otabek looks for a blue star and tucks some of its light into Yuri’s hair. “But I am the only one here.”

Yuri looks out into the sky. He hugs himself again, not because of the cold. “I don’t remember where I came from.”

Otabek places a little more light into that gold fringe. “You may stay here until you do.”

 

 

Otabek wakes at moonrise. On the other side of the cavern, the starchild is asleep, a glimmer in the darkness. The scratches and bruises have faded. Otabek watches him for a few moments before getting up.

He’s just finished sweeping away some chunks of asteroid from outside his cavern when Yuri emerges, blinking drowsily and rubbing his eyes.

Wordlessly, Otabek holds out the last of the sunshine that he has saved. It is warm and bright in his palm. Yuri turns his sleepy gaze onto the moonwalker, then takes the sunshine with a tiny smile. The threads spiral up his arms.

“Thank you,” Yuri says politely. Then he looks around, shifting a little in uncertainty.

Otabek tips his head to the side. “I have to see if anything fell here while we were asleep. Would you like to join me?”

The corners of Yuri’s mouth pull up a little more. When Otabek sets off, he follows.

 

The vast and overarching sky stretches out above them, full of stars and moons and other worlds. Yuri looks up, points and asks, and Otabek quietly answers.

He tells Yuri that he has been on this moon all his life, gathering starlight to keep himself warm while he is awake. Always just enough to banish the stiffness in his limbs, the cold in his bones. He cannot take too much.

“Why?” Yuri asks. He looks at his own hands, feels the warmth that is ever-present in his skin.

“It will burn,” Otabek answers simply. He had made that mistake once, when he had stumbled into the sun side of the moon. It had only been a few moments, but his arms had ached for weeks after, too hot and stinging. He stays away from the edge of the shadow now.

Otabek tells Yuri about the asteroids and comets, about the world below that he has never been to but wants to, maybe. He tells Yuri about the constellations that sometimes come to greet him on their journeys across the sky. He tells Yuri about the moonwalkers, about his old friend Jean. He tells Yuri about the humans down on Earth, about how they sometimes send their own kind up here, and how he wonders if he should say hello.

All the while, Otabek will spin down some starlight. Some he will keep for himself, letting the soft warmth sooth his cold muscles. The rest, he gives to Yuri, who, in the moonshine, is the same color as the sun.

 

They get the chores done easily enough. Otabek takes Yuri with him to check around the craters; privately, he wonders if perhaps another starchild had landed on his moon. As he works, Yuri darts around, curious and wide-eyed.

The starchild peers over the top of a hill of rock. "What is that?"

Otabek pauses from where he's spinning the trails of a meteor into a ball. "Hm?"

"That." Yuri points at the world of green and blue.

"Oh." Otabek finishes the ball and passes it to Yuri. It glows brighter when it passes into the starchild's hands; it seeps slowly into Yuri’s palms, sparks flitting up his arms. He looks to where Yuri had been pointing. "That's the Earth."

Yuri looks back at the Earth with wide eyes. “So different.”

Otabek looks around, at the moon that has always been his home. Up until the horizon is rock and moon sand, and stardust. “It is,” he agrees, but he does not mind.

There is stardust on Yuri too, dancing on his skin. “Are there starchildren there too?” he asks tentatively.

Otabek smiles a small, sad smile. “No, Yuri.”

The sparks fizzle out, and Yuri dims a little. "Oh."

The sun will be rising soon. Otabek hesitates, then reaches out to Yuri, the lightest brush of fingers to the back of the starchild’s hand. Yuri is so much warmer and softer than any starlight Otabek has taken, and so much more tangible. The trifling bit of friction sets some sparks off Yuri’s skin, and the tips of Otabek’s fingers feel set alight.

Yuri looks up, a little startled. Otabek withdraws his hand, and steps away.

“We should go back.”

 

The days go by. The sun sets, and they wake. Otabek goes about his chores as he always has, with Yuri in tow. The starchild has endless questions, and Otabek answers as best as he can. His curiosity is infectious; soon, Otabek too is wondering about the other moons and worlds he has never visited, because he has never left his sanctuary in the universe.

The days go by, and as each one passes Yuri becomes a little brighter, his glow a little stronger. He has told Otabek that one day, he will be able to spin his own light from his fingers. One day, he will create threads of starlight like the ones Otabek pulls down from the sky to give him.

They sit at the edge of a crater, watching a comet pass by. Otabek tells Yuri about a comet child he’d met once, named Phichit.

Yuri looks at him in awe, and murmurs, “I didn’t know.”

Otabek looks at him questioningly.

“All these other things out there.” Yuri makes a sweeping gesture, encompassing a universe so vast and complex. He feels almost reverent of this new knowledge. “I didn’t know about them.”

Otabek smiles gently. “Now you do.”

It makes Yuri laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Otabek likes his laugh, tinkling and light and sweet. They sit in a comfortable silence as the galaxies move slowly around them.

It is subtle; at first, Otabek does not notice. But then Yuri’s hands creep up his own arms, as if he is hugging himself. He has paled, just a bit.

“Are you cold?” Otabek asks.

Yuri bites his lip, and nods, the barest movement of his head.

Otabek asks nothing else. He reaches out and pulls down more starlight, threading it into Yuri’s hair. It reflects in his eyes.

“Sorry,” Yuri says in a small voice. He is afraid to ask for more, afraid it might be too much. But the pink flush is back on his skin, in his cheeks.

Otabek’s fingers deftly weave the last of the starlight around Yuri’s wrist. “It is all right,” he answers, and Yuri smiles.

 

As they walk back, Yuri stays a little closer to him, sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye. Otabek smiles back.

His hands sting, faintly. He does not tell Yuri.

The sun rises, and they sleep.

 

It is when another comet passes by that Otabek asks, hesitantly, what Yuri remembers. It has been a long while since the star shower, and Yuri is still here, kneeling on the barren landscape while Otabek clears the moondust away. His hair is a little longer now, wisping around his face.

“Do you still not know?”

Yuri looks up at him, confused. Otabek clears his throat and the question.

“Where you came from. You said you didn’t remember.”

Yuri blinks, then turns his face away. His hands are on his lap; his fingers twist around themselves.

“No,” he answers, small and shaky.

Otabek comes to sit beside him, and tucks a few strands of hair behind Yuri’s ear. He ignores the tiny pinpricks of pain that the gesture brings to his fingers.

“What _do_ you remember?” he asks gently. When the starchild stays silent, he waits.

 

In quiet words and hesitations, Yuri tells him. He talks about the other starchildren, the ones he remembers -– Viktor, vivid and excitable; Yuuri, softer and milder; Mila, sharp and laughing. Yellow and blue and red, all their colors.

He talks about how the other starchildren were stronger, able to spin themselves into threads of light to travel wherever they pleased, and then find themselves again. And then, in a whisper, he says that he was not supposed to, but he had tried on his own. Viktor was supposed to take him when they left, but Yuri had been angry and stubborn.

He talks about falling, and being so frightened. And then he was here, and Otabek had found him.

Yuri sits there, in the shadows of the nighttime, so richly colored against the flatness of the moonscape and Otabek’s own ashy skin. His hands are folded so tightly on his lap; his shoulders are hunched. Even now, looking so young and anxious, he glows steady.

Otabek takes Yuri’s hand. The touch is so much warmer, a comfort almost painful.

“You will learn,” he says, with as much certainty as he can muster. “And then, you will find them again.”

There is a moment, a heartbeat, and then Yuri squeezes his hand in thanks.

 

(It hurts, the touch. He does not tell Yuri.)

 

The days go by. Little by little, more and more, Yuri finds the moon colder. Otabek spins more starlight, the tails of comets, the dust of meteors. He wakes a little earlier, to take a little more sunshine. The heat and the stinging sensation stay under his skin now, a rawness in his veins.

He braids the sunshine a little tighter, and smiles at Yuri in good morning.

 

One frightful night, they are careless. Otabek is so used to waking at moonrise, and sleeping when the sun comes, that he has never questioned letting Yuri follow the same routine. Yuri knows now why Otabek stays away from the edge of the shadows, from the sun side. But one night Yuri is too curious, and nervous steps take him to the boundary of dark and light. He can feel the warmth, the brightness; it resonates with him.

Carefully, cautiously, a hand reaches out.

(“ _Yuri!”_ )

It is subtle; at first, Yuri does not notice. But threads of light are unspinning themselves off his skin, winding their way towards the sun side; there is a burning under his skin that is soothing, somehow. It is different from when he had tried and unspun himself before. He stares at his hands in shock and awe.

Then a cold hand is pulling him back, away from the edge. The breath is knocked from his lungs in exhales of shimmering dust.

Otabek is looking at him with large, terrified eyes. His right forearm is bright red, almost singed. Yuri feels the comforting heat dissipate from his limbs and feels bereft.

“Are you all right?” Otabek asks, frantic. He extends his hands, intending to check for himself.

Yuri steps away.

Otabek’s hands still.

“Yuri?” Carefully, cautiously, his voice reaches out.

Yuri turns, and runs, and Otabek cannot see the tears that track down his cheeks like drops of sunlight.

 

When Otabek returns to his cavern, he finds Yuri there, curled in a corner and already asleep. Though he glows steadily, it is faint, and his arms are drawn around himself for warmth. Outside, the sun is beginning to rise. With a deep breath, Otabek takes his chances and reaches out, catching some of the sunshine. It scalds his fingers, light and warmth in too pure a form, but he cradles it in his palms and carries it into the cavern.

With shaking hands, he presses the sunlight into Yuri. The heat flares up, then disperses. Yuri’s breathing eases, his body slackens.

Otabek snatches his hands back and presses them to the cold ground, fighting against the burning sensation and the urge to cry out in pain. He knows what he has just done is too much, and too dangerous. He knows.

As he goes to tuck himself into sleep, waits for the cold and stiffness to creep back in, he thinks to himself that he will do it again and again anyway.

 

It is moonrise.

Otabek wakes to find Yuri already up and outside. The starchild has his hand raised, palm splayed out towards the sky. He glows, warm and bright. His starspun hair is longer now, framing his face.

"Yuri." Otabek calls the name softly.

Yuri stirs, as if from a trance. His hand falls to his side limply; his glow dims. "Sorry," he says with a little laugh, turning to Otabek. "I couldn't go back to sleep."

Otabek goes to join him, stretching his arms overhead. He looks at his skin, which is pale as the moon beside Yuri's rose and gold. He knows why Yuri is awake and outside. But he says nothing, and reaches out to catch the last threads of sunshine.

"Are they still out there, Otabek?" Yuri's voice is small, tinkling, unsure. It hurts for him to ask. "Do they still remember me?"

Otabek moves closer and starts to braid the sunshine into his hair. "Yes," he answers, careful and quiet. "You are not alone, Yuri."

 _You have me_ , he thinks to himself, but he knows it is not enough. And he has accepted this. So he will take care of this starchild for now, and for him, that is enough.

They stand in silence, then Yuri looks at the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, a little timidly. Then tentatively, he holds out his hands and takes the threads of sunshine from Otabek. They wind up his arms, melting into his glow. The warmth leaves Otabek’s skin, but the prickling sensation remains.

Otabek’s hands linger a moment longer in the air, then drop by his side. He smiles.

“I understand.”

Yuri beams back, bright and relieved.

( _And so very beautiful._ )

 

The days go by. Yuri gets colder, Otabek becomes warmer. The stiffness takes longer to return to his limbs. On his chest, faint even against the paleness of his skin, tiny fractures begin to emerge. When Yuri is asleep, Otabek scrutinizes and traces them back to the spot over his heart. He rubs at the skin, trying to ease the sting with hands cooled by moon rock.

He hides them under his shirt during the night, smiling as he braids more starshine into Yuri’s hair, weaves him wristlets and circlets of sunlight. Once, a comet passes close by. Yuri watches in breathless delight as it crosses their sky, bright and burning. Otabek looks at that starspun hair, those big green eyes.

He snatches a burst of comet fire, recklessly, and tucks it behind Yuri’s ear.

It burns and burns all night, lighting up Yuri’s face almost as much as the starchild’s smile. It burns, like Otabek’s fingers and his heart.

 

Gradually, then quickly, Yuri grows stronger. He is a steady gold in the night, easy for Otabek to find and watch. If he exhales slowly and deliberately, he sends traces of stardust into the air around him.

One night, when Otabek is clearing the moondust and Yuri is sitting by a crater, watching the stars, the starchild calls to him excitedly. Yuri looks at his hands, smiling so wide it almost hurts. He glows vivid and intense.

The tiny flickers of starshine flit about Yuri’s fingers, and the starchild laughs and laughs, waving his hands. “Otabek, look!” he exclaims, unable to take his eyes off the sparks around his fingers. “I can make the lights appear!”

Otabek watches him, and something hurts in his chest, a different ache from the one in his heart that comes more often these days. But he smiles, because Yuri looks so beautiful, and so happy.

“Very pretty,” he says, touching the tip of his finger gently to one of the sparks. It flares up at the contact, then melts into his skin, warm and effervescent.

“I couldn’t do it before,” Yuri whispers, eyes wide and wondering.

“You’ve grown.” Otabek does not hide the affection in his voice. He reaches out, lays his fingers on Yuri’s cheek. “You’ll be able to leave soon.”

“I—” Yuri hesitates. He has grown. He can leave. He can find the other starchildren. He looks at Otabek and does not understand why the thought makes him sad. “I can leave.”

( _I don’t want to._ )

Yuri lowers his hands and the sparks disperse. He feels Otabek’s touch on his cheek, almost leans into it. (He’s not sure what stops him.) He swallows the apprehension in his throat.

“Can you come with me?” he asks, searching Otabek’s face. Those dark eyes shutter, just for a moment; there is a tightness at their corners that Yuri does not like.

“No, Yuri,” Otabek answers gently, withdrawing his hand. Yuri tips forward, chasing it.

It is almost sunrise. Otabek turns away, clears the last of the meteor pieces so they can return home. He leaves first, and Yuri finds he hates the sight of Otabek walking away.

 

One frightful night, Otabek is careless. He is more used to waking earlier than moonrise now, risking catching the sunlight to give it to Yuri, then cooling his singed fingers on the ground. He hides the cracks in his chest under his shirt, ignores the ache of his heart. But one night Yuri rouses a little early, and turns to find Otabek clutching at his chest with his face twisted in pain.

Quicker than he can breathe, Yuri is stumbling towards the cavern entrance, horrified and panicked. Otabek tries to shake it off, pull back, but Yuri pries his hands away and stares in alarm. The cracks are spreading, darkening, stark against Otabek’s pale skin. A redness like a rash colors his chest. Where they had touched the sunshine, his fingers are scalded.

Yuri almost takes those hands in his, but stops himself in time. He thinks of why Otabek stays away from the sun side, why he cannot take too much starlight.

The tears well up before he can stop them, and he curls his fingers against his cheeks to wipe them off.

“Yuri.” Unbelievably, Otabek is reaching up to him, to comfort and console. Yuri shakes his head violently, pulls back.

“ _No,_ ” he says loudly. In the cooling air of the evening, Otabek’s blistered skin is starting to heal. But the cracks on his chest remain. Yuri cannot look.

“Enough,” he says through a sob. He fumbles for the ball of sunshine Otabek had been weaving and smashes it under his palms. The strands flare up, then scatter, and Yuri is left pressing his hands to the cold, hard ground.

“Yuri.” Otabek says his name again, distressed. Yuri hunches in on himself, pushes his fists to the ache that blooms in his chest and threatens to drown him.

“You can’t—” Yuri hiccups, sobs, pushes his fists in harder. “You _can’t_ —” He cannot finish the sentence. It hurts. Otabek’s hands are still raised between them, fingers pink and stinging.

They stay there for a long moment, Yuri on his knees as he cries and Otabek beside him, able only to watch. He wants to touch Yuri, pull him close and tell him it is all right ( _it is all worth it_ ).

“I’m sorry,” Yuri whispers to the night air, in a small and shattered voice.

 _No,_ Otabek thinks desperately, but his throat will not let him speak. He brushes a hand over Yuri’s hair instead, and lets the starchild cry.

 

Yuri starts to refuse the starshine, the dust of the meteors. He allows a little, just enough to get him by. Otabek gathers less, but the cracks on his chest are slow to heal. Yuri no longer follows him as he does the chores, and it is almost like the starchild is not here.

But when Otabek settles himself in to sleep, Yuri crawls over to sleep beside him. He keeps a careful distance, does not touch. But it is enough to warm Otabek in his sleep, just enough. Sometimes, Otabek looks over to Yuri, wonders what they must look like beside each other – the starchild with rich reds and golds coloring his skin, and the moonwalker with blue-white. Sometimes he steals tiny threads of Yuri’s light, to keep a little of Yuri with him.

There is something he is afraid of, and something he feels in his bones is certain to happen. But until it does, he will count down the nights they have together and savor this. He will keep this starchild beside him as long as he can.

 

Yuri wakes well before moonrise. Otabek is beside him, dark hair falling over his forehead. Deliberately, gently, Yuri untangles the last threads of sunshine that Otabek had braided into his hair at the start of their day, and weaves it around the moonwalker's wrist. It will not last as long on him, dispersing gradually into his skin, but Yuri hopes it will still be there when Otabek wakes.

"Thank you," he says, and leans to press a kiss to Otabek's cold cheek. It glows for a moment, pink and warm, a flush on his cheek. Then it fades, and is gone.

Slowly, Yuri leaves their cavern, their home. With certain steps, he walks to the edge of the darkness, at the entrance of the cave. Then with one more glance behind him, he unspins himself into the light. The last of his sparks twinkle in goodbye.

 

Otabek wakes, and the cavern is empty.

He sits there, feels as his heartbeats pass. He presses one hand to his chest, until it hurts. He lets it hurt.

Then he goes outside, and begins to clear the moon dust away.

 

(He does not catch any starlight. He lets himself be cold and stiff, lets every movement become demanding and painful. He feels his joints grind together. His chest is still too warm.)

 

The days go by. Otabek sits in his cavern and watches the stars. He feels the chill and the rigor in his bones now. The cracks on his chest have faded. His moon circles its world; Otabek circles the shadow side of his home, listless and tired.

Then one night, there is a star shower. Otabek looks at it, follows the trails and wonders who they are. He wants to call out, _do you know him?_ He wants to know, _is he safe?_

(He wants to ask, _is he happy?)_

When the star shower is done and the moonrise comes, Otabek hesitates at the entrance of his cavern. He fees warm, a sensation almost unfamiliar to him now. It soothes his muscles, his chest.

He steps out onto the landscape and begins his chores.

With his heart in his throat, he checks the craters. He finds no lost starchild this time.

On his way back to his cavern, Otabek catches a wisp from a red star. He winds it around his wrist, feels it seep into his skin.

 

He takes a little more the next night.

 

The days go by. Otabek spins his starlight, does his chores. Grows a little older, a little taller. Goes on with his life.

The starchild burns bright in memory.

The cracks on his chest are long gone.

 

It is moonrise.

Otabek rouses from his sleep. His movements are stiff; it is cold. His footsteps echo in the small cavern as he makes his way outside, where the starlight greets him. He reaches out, winding the last few threads of sunshine through his fingers. They glow rose and gold against his skin. Carefully, he presses them to his chest, closes his eyes as he warms.

Above him, the stars twinkle.

Otabek goes about the daily chores. He checks for fallen asteroids. He clears the area around his cavern of moondust and bits of meteor. He hums a little tune picked up from a passing comet.

He checks the craters in case something has fallen in.

 

Something has, or not quite.

 

Someone is standing at the lip of one of the craters, dusting themselves off. Tiny flickers of stardust scatter with their movements. Otabek stares and stares, wonders if perhaps he is seeing wrongly.

The starchild looks up, and Otabek feels his world stop.

“Yuri _,_ ” he breathes out, and then louder, “ _Yuri._ ” And Yuri is there, running towards him, laughter carrying across the horizon.

“You’re here,” Yuri says, voice cracking, once he is close enough. He stops a few steps away, panting, looking Otabek up and down as if he cannot believe his own eyes.

(He cannot, not yet. He had been so afraid that he would return, and find only a moon and no more moonwalker to tell him stories.)

“I am here,” Otabek answers. His throat feels tight. He wants to reach out, but if he does, and Yuri disappears before his eyes into the starlight—

The starchild closes the distance, smiles. He is taller now; his hair is longer, still starspun. He meets Otabek’s eyes and there is the green Otabek has missed, the brightness he has fallen for.

“You came back,” he says softly, wonderingly.

Yuri smiles, painfully wide, bright and pure. “I met a man on the moon,” he says; his hands reach up and over to Otabek. “He gave me a home.”

Yuri’s palms press over Otabek’s chest, over his heart. They are warm, a gentle heat that soothes, banishes the stiffness and the cold from Otabek. Yuri is his own star, now; as he is, Otabek has no more need to spin starshine.

He reaches out, brushes his fingers over Yuri’s cheeks, the rose and gold.

He leans in, through the stardust in the air between them.

He kisses Yuri.

Warm and gentle and _real--_

Yuri kisses back.


End file.
